Nights Of Frost
by Chibi America
Summary: A Christmas that seems to be of nothing but false hopes turns around for the better. 12 days of Christmas countdown.


**Countdown to Christmas! **

*******Chibi America*******

_USUK_

~X-X-X~

_Staring._ Nothing but constant _staring_ at the cream coloured paint. Drowsy lids silently commanded stumbling fingers to dial the digets, struggling to see through tear blurred eyes.

The ring was only momentary; the drone of the line cutting off instantly, signaling that Alfred must have merely turned off his mobile cellphone. And why would Arthur blame him? He would too after being called for the _seventeenth_ time in a row.

There came a beep after a dramatic pause, then the line spoke up painstakingly slow and precise—

_Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system; the number dialed is not available. At the tone, you may record your message—_

Emerald irises were stoic, having lost all previous flare as they pierced into the wall adjacent to them. Arthur listened to the robotic voice, wishing with everything he had left that it would turn into his precious love's obnoxious greeting.

_—When you have finished recording, hang up or press one for more options._

Perhaps he didn't have much left to wish with, as no matter how hard he hoped, he never heard the American slur he held so close. The drawn out buzz seemed to sound in slow motion and his calloused thumbs hung up the phone without leaving a word. Arthur had already left several pleading messages, he knew it would be fruitless to leave another.

With all hope lost, he decided to listen to something else. The storm above his head thumped wildly as he rubbed violently at his face, resulting in making the skin there red and puffy. He'd be spending the holidays cold and alone, packed in by snow. _Lovely._ It really was depressing and not at all motivational.

Just..._Why wouldn't Alfred call him?_ It had been an entire month and he wouldn't even answer his phone. Every time the Briton called, it went straight to the message machine.

Did Alfred hate him again?

The thought was horrid and Arthur couldn't find a reason to doubt it, which was even more dreadful than the actual thought itself. Doubt must be a splendid thing, then. He wished he had some. And what a time of year for wishing...if only things would come true like they did fairy tales.

_Maybe he finally noticed how skinny I look, or how my face doesn't seem—right—compared to his. Maybe I did something wrong. I swore I'd never hurt him like I had so long ago...we had finally stopped ignoring each other..._

_And now__—all this__—and so close to Christmas too._

_...Damn. I'm pathetic._

Arthur sniffled as he shuffled his feet across the carpet, moving over in front of a rather foggy looking window. He carefully swept his hand across the chilled surface to clear off a circular patch of the mist. He then gazed forward for a moment before noting something pressed against the glass. Peering downward; he blinked—was something sitting on his window sill?

Sure enough, there was a Partridge bird nestled against the house, most likely looking for warmth. What a coincidence, Arthur had never noticed one so close. Now that he thought about it, it was kind of ironic; December...a Partridge. The only thing missing was a pear tree.

It didn't take long for Arthur to begin humming the carol in his head. _On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; A Partridge in a Pear Tree. _A single verse in, the blond decided he wasn't deserving of the happy song, as he had no lover, nor a pear tree.

But he had the Partridge. That was nice, right?

_Again with being a pathetic man. A Partridge in no company. Hell...the bloody thing would fly away if he noticed me, surly._

He heaved another heavy sigh and scrambled away from the window, not wanting to have anymore contact with the outside. As he walked back into the living room he had to stop himself from picking the phone back up, figuring his calling was nothing but a pitiful burden in the first place.

Arthur yawned and lugged up the steps of his staircase. He didn't try to eat anything, he didn't turn off any of the lights, he just paced forward. He keyed into the drum of his feet till he found himself collapsed against a soft mattress. And on that mattress, he stayed. Not moving, not speaking, not bundling up under the covers.

He just _stared _forward. _Staring_ at the wall as he played the images out in his mind.

_From childhood's hour I have not been_

_As others were—I have not seen_

_As others saw—I could not bring_

_My passions from a common spring—_

_From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow—I could not awaken_

_My heart to joy at the same tone—_

_And all I lov'd—I lov'd alone—_

_Then—in my childhood—in the dawn_

_Of a most stormy life—was drawn_

_From ev'ry depth of good and ill_

_The mystery which binds me still—_

_From the torrent, or the fountain—_

_From the red cliff of the mountain—_

_From the sun that 'round me roll'd_

_In its autumn tint of gold—_

_From the lightning in the sky_

_As it pass'd me flying by—_

_From the thunder, and the storm—_

_And the cloud that took the form_

_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_

_Of a demon in my view—_

Arthur's eyes welled with tears and he sprang out of the bed, scrubbing once again at his face. His movements were jittery and he didn't know what to think. He wrapped his arms around himself, detesting his shaky body. He could't take anymore, he was sure of it. These dreams and horrible visions. Life itself. But no—life continued on and on and it wouldn't cease till his land went up in flames; the embers igniting ad dancing with the wind with the memories of their soldiers.

What he was once so proud of, he could no longer bear.

Nimbly, the Englishman took off down his stairs, full and broken sobs escaping his throat. He was clothed in light pajamas and nothing to cover his feet as he threw his door open on the hinges. His breath was raspy and the frosted air bit with a harshness as he stepped outside. There his feet burned as he dashed out into the snow. The frost was a cold fire, chilling his whole body to the bone. _He'd find a way to end it all._ If a gun shot could't kill him, he could trap himself. He'd jump in a cement mixer if he could, where he'd never have to deal with a storm again.

Ahead of him was a lake. It was frozen over but he knew the ice was too thin to support the weight of a human being. His mind wizzed over the concept so fast that he didn't even have to think. Arthur only trampled out upon the ice that was once a pool of water, falling down and sliding smack dab in the middle of the surface. He stared down as the snow flakes fell upon him, entangling in the strands of his hair where they rested there peacefully. _Could he stop immortality? _

Without questioning it any further, he felt the translucent sheet shift around him, cracking beneath where he sat. Seconds later there came a yelp and he was gone.

There was nothing but inky darkness, the impassive, lifeless gloom as it engulfed Arthur's body. He knew he was no longer standing on solid ground in the bleak space that felt as eerie as an ossuary. His eyes were shut silently, his limbs drifting above his body, limp like a lifeless dog as the liquid swallowed him whole. Breath was stolen as his lungs filled with water, being deprived of oxygen.

_Goodnight, Alfred._

~X-X-X~

**This is not the end, I dare say! It has 11 more chapters to go! The poem used in this chapter is "Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe. A personal favourite of mine. **

**Reviews are lovely gifts ^^**

*******Chibi America***** **


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